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Steve swears the phone has been ringing for an eternity.
It was ringing when he first rolled over in bed, cursing himself for leaving the curtains open. It was ringing as he curled in on himself, shivering enough to make his teeth chatter despite the three blankets, two of which he had hauled out of the linen closet at some ass-crack-of-morning time because one was not cutting it. The phone was ringing as he dragged himself into a shower, not bothering with standing and just sitting under the water. It was ringing even as the steam fogged up the mirror while he hugged his knees, the shudders now verging on painful. Still ringing as he finally pulled himself out of the shower and onto the bath mat and wrapped himself in a towel. Still as he could barely stand, reality tilted and spinning, and made his way to sit on the edge of the bed.
He grabs the phone as he hunches in on himself, his hair dripping water down his back with a feeling like ice. “Harrington residence, please leave a message.” And then he hangs up, even as he thinks he starts to hear someone on the other end. Especially since he thinks he hears someone on the other end.
Wrapping his hair up in his towel, he reaches forward to hook a finger on the edge of his laundry basket and tips it forward to spill out onto the carpet. He feels like he might also tip but quickly steadies himself with one hand on his bedside table. “Just get dressed,” he mumbles to himself, voice sounding far away. “Clothes are warm…” So he pulls out a hoodie and sweatpants from the pile at his feet, abstractly knows they’re dirty but not that dirty but he’s almost certain he’ll fall over if he tries to walk to his closet. He dresses slowly, taking pauses before the big movements that leave him dizzy and momentarily doubled over, before working himself back under the covers.
Lying there, wrapped in some of the heaviest blankets in the house, some of his warmer clothes without wearing an actual jacket, he feels like someone’s sliding cold sheets of metal between his bones and skin. He’s never felt temperatures like this before - not even that one time he’d done a polar bear swim for one of the town’s rebuilding charity events. And the pain - he’d take Billy’s fist to the jaw again over this, because the pain is thousands of icy needles straight against his bones, and muscle cramps from both the shivering and him physically trying to stop said shivering. At least with his eyes closed the world isn’t tipping, but he still feels strangely adrift.
The world is red when he opens his eyes. Red with grey clouds and curling, warping black smoke. He’s running but not feeling the movement, the difference of space, but he’s heaving breath into his lungs and his legs are burning. And then he’s falling, pitching down a hill as the colours above him swirl and muddle together. The air feels heavy as he slams onto his back. Above him the clouds streak through with dark lightening and he pushes himself to his feet, barely getting his legs under him before he’s running again and now everything’s keeping pace, speeding along beside him in a blur of colour and light and it’s like the world is sprinting at the speed of a tilt-a-whirl from the fair and-
He hits the ground hard on his side, pain sparking up his elbow and his hip enough to make him cry out. He expects to feel packed dirt - or vines or blood or stone or - beneath his hands but it’s carpet instead. Lifting his head - gods it feels like someone strapped a weight to the back of his neck - he finds himself back in his room, sun pouring through his unfortunately still open curtains. And it’s all silent for a moment, aside from Steve trying to suck in breaths that his lungs barely accept, before the phone shrills.
Steve flinches and slowly, slowly pulls himself up, hands gripping onto the blankets to keep himself grounded and steady. By the time he’s kneeling on his bed the phone’s ceased its ringing and he curses quietly. “Fuckin’ stop. Nothin’s that important,” he grumbles, laying down on his stomach. He drags a pillow under his cheek, the blankets over his back. He recognizes that his head is near the phone this time, and he has half a thought that he’ll just chuck it across the room if it rings again.
Immobile again, eyes closed against the light he doesn’t have the energy to put away, he feels that icy metal sensation resettle under his skin. Feels it knot up at the back of his throat and the points on his bones that hit the ground earlier. He knows there are common painkillers in the bathroom, some harder ones from his last hospital trip in the summer that are somewhere in his drawer, but, through the warping red smoke that shrouds his brain, he understands that he’s not bad off enough for those. But it’s still a thought.
Steve doesn’t think he sleeps, but he keeps swimming between barely conscious - checking in on the ice working its way to his marrow and the dull ache in his skull - and hazy dreams - more smoke, packed dirt under his feet, the world either lagging behind in time or moving several seconds too far ahead. He’s not aware of a clock in his dreams but it feels like there’s a countdown somewhere. Someone somewhere is watching a ticking second hand and it feels like weights on his ankles, a hand pressing against the back of his neck, a burning in his lungs deep enough it’s like he’s smouldering from the inside.
He goes under again, waking in the woods behind his house under the red sky and looming smoke. A metallic tang in his mouth makes him gag and he doubles over, bracing his hands on his knees as he heaves, spitting up blood all over his dirty white Adidas. His stomach twists and he leans heavily against a tree that’s coated with a substance Steve absolutely refuses to look at. Gods, everything fucking hurts and he just wants to stop and find out where he’s bleeding from because he can taste it and smell it and-
There’s a sound from behind him and he’s running, churning stomach and metallic stench be damned he’s running and time is moving faster than he is like the world’s on fast forward while he’s behind the clock and there’s still noise from behind him something heavy that’s crashing and -
-and he’s jerking awake in bed to the sound of a muffled bang. The ice under his skin crisps at the edges and he wants to fucking scream but someone is shouting his name and he’s dragging himself out of bed in response. He stumbles into the doorframe as he hurriedly tries to rub sleep from his eyes and he calls out, or at least he thinks he calls out, “What’s wrong?!”
But there’s his name again and he can hear thudding footsteps on the stairs. He manages to get his eyes open as Eddie crashes up into the hallway, his big eyes wide and his hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it.
“Steve,” he manages, breath catching in his throat. “What’s going on?”
“Wh’d’y’mean?” Steve slurs, trying to drag his awareness front and centre and out of the murky haze of his nightmares. Everything’s moving so slowly now.
“Steve…” And Eddie’s walking towards him, slowly, a hand extended. Steve’s scattered focus sees that and solidifies enough for Steve to also reach out, to take the outstretched hand, gripping like Eddie’s a life raft and pulling him forward. He watches Eddie’s eyes widen a second before Steve can’t see them anymore from where he’s pulled the metalhead to his chest. Eddie’s warm where he’s pressed against him and Steve’s not entirely sure who groans. His free hand slips under Eddie’s shirt, rests firmly on his lower back so he won’t go anywhere. He’s so warm and Steve’s so cold and it doesn’t matter that he’s got himself backed against the hallway wall if it means that Eddie can cover him like this. His hair is kinda in Steve’s face but it’s soft and Steve closes his eyes, tilts his head slightly to press his face into those dark curls. He hears the click of Eddie swallowing, and one of his hands comes up to rest against the side of Steve’s neck. His cold rings spark against his skin, something like static, and Steve shivers, full bodied.
“Stevie, I’ve been trying to call you all morning...”
“Oh…”
“And when Robin called, you answered-“
“Oh.” And Steve groans as he says it, leans his head back against the wall with a thunk. Eddie makes a sympathetic noise.
“You- Something’s wrong. What’s-“ And now his other hand has slipped from Steve’s and is pressed to Steve’s forehead and it’s so warm. Eddie’s radiating heat against Steve’s chest and Steve slides both hands up the back of Eddie’s shirt, palms pressed to his spine.
“Fuck,” Eddie hisses. “You’re warm.”
Steve shakes his head. “Freezing.”
“No. No you’re definitely-“ Eddie pauses, and when he speaks next his voice is even gentler than it had been. “Steve... What’s that noise?”
“What noise?”
“From your room…” He’s pulling away quickly and Steve can’t help but whine as the heat of him disappears. Steve cracks open an eye and tilts his head to see Eddie step inside his en suite. There’s a long stretch of nothing, and he slowly makes his way into the room, arms crossed tightly against his chest. When Eddie comes out of the washroom he’s worrying at his bottom lip as his gaze sweeps the room. “Stevie…” He meets Steve’s eye. “You left the shower running.”
Steve sags onto the bed, pushing his hands into his hair under the sweater’s hood he had pulled up. He can feel Eddie’s eyes on him, and then there’s movement behind him. He tilts his head slowly to look over his shoulder and sees Eddie pulling some of the blankets off the bed. Steve groans and reaches a hand out.
“Eddie…”
Eddie shakes his head slowly, drops the blankets in his hands before crawling across the bed to sit beside Steve.
“Stevie,” he says softly. “You’re sick.”
“No m’not.”
“You have a fever, I’m pretty sure.”
“Fevers make you warm. I feel like I’ve stepped into Scoop’s walk-in.”
Eddie sighs and rubs Steve’s shoulder. “You are warm.”
Steve tries to crack a smile as he tilts his head back enough that he can wink at Eddie. “You calling me hot, Eds?”
Eddie groans and sits back. Steve can see his flushed cheeks, the way he’s holding back a smile even as he tries to fix him with a serious look. “Yes. I am. But not in a good way.” He tugs at Steve’s sleeve. “Listen to me, Harrington.” Steve frowns at the last name usage. What happened to Stevie? “ I need you to compromise with me, ok? One of two options, ‘cause you won’t like the third.”
Steve leans into Eddie’s hand on his arm, wonders if this compromise will get Eddie’s warmth against him again.
“You can either keep this on-“ Eddie tugs on his sleeve again. “-but you can’t have that many blankets. Or you can keep the blankets but you need to be in less clothing.”
Steve wants to smirk, wants to make a crack about Eddie just trying to get him naked. But the serious tone of his friend’s voice is one he rarely hears, and the way he’s staring at Steve without his usual amusement is making him uneasy.
“What’s the third option?” Steve whispers.
“I’d rather not even say it because I know you’ll hate it. So, please, c’mon, baby-“ Baby- “- compromise with me. Because all this-“ Eddie gestures to his tracksuit and then the pile of blankets at the foot of the bed. “-is going to make you more sick. I know you feel cold but you’re not.”
They stare at each other for a long moment. Steve’s rolling the options around his brain but it’s like crushed beer cans in an otherwise empty recycling bin. The thought of the metal under his skin having access to cold air makes him want to hide in the still steamed-up bathroom, but he’s so goddamn tired that the lack of blankets makes his eyes prick embarrassingly. He closes his eyes and grits his teeth, only to have pain flare up along his jaw to his temples, and he can’t hold back a whimper this time. Why does everything fucking hurt?
Eddie sighs softly beside him and then there’s movement that Steve can’t track as his head throbs dully and the room seems to tilt in the darkness behind his eyes.
“C’mere, sweetheart.” And Eddie’s hands are on his arms, carefully guiding him to lie down. Steve curls up on his side, Eddie a mirror image in front of him like closed parenthesis. Steve shifts forward up against him, tucks his head under Eddie’s chin, his lips near the hollow of his throat. He can barely smell him: usually a musk of cigarettes, car oil, and cheap cologne dampened to pretty much nothing by his apparent illness. As he breathes he can feel Eddie go still, and then relax in increments. He gently runs a hand through Steve’s hair, his cold rings sending a chill down Steve’s spine.
“How long have you been feeling like garbage?” Eddie asks.
“Since last night,” Steve admits, voice small and tired. He’s so goddamn tired. “It got worse this morning, though.”
He can feel Eddie nod as he rests his hand on the back of Steve’s neck. It would usually be uncomfortable, something Steve would typically interpret as dominating, but it’s Eddie. Eddie’s who’s a furnace keeping the worst of the chill at bay. Eddie who has been the best comfort in the past twenty-four hours. “Are you going to be ok if I leave for like, twenty or thirty minutes? Just to get you some things?”
And ten minutes ago Steve would have said he didn’t want to see anyone, that the idea of someone else’s presence was too much for his already overwhelmed system, that having anyone figure out something was wrong with him would be enough to make him lock his doors like he did after the autumn of ‘84. But Eddie is here, had clearly used his key to rush into Steve’s house and find him barely functioning upstairs with the shower still running for god knows how long and then attempt to take care of him. He was here and something Steve could hold onto, something warm and solid pressed close against him, and Steve is almost sure he won’t have anymore nearly-waking nightmares if Eddie just stays here. Steve uncurls his arms from where they’re tucked between their chests to wrap one over Eddie’s waist and grip onto the back of his shirt so tightly that his knuckles crack, every tendon in his forearm tensing until he thinks they might seize, and he can feel Eddie nodding again, a little frantic.
“Ok, ok, sweetheart. Then I need you to answer some questions for me, ok?”
Steve jerks his head in a short nod. He feels like he’s going to start spinning out.
“Do you have some sort of juice in the fridge?”
He shakes his head. He knows Eddie usually prefers verbal responses to direct questions but he does not have it in him. But Eddie hums, an understanding noise, and his other hand wraps over Steve’s waist to rest on his back. He starts to rub slow circles there and it sends twinges of discomfort up his spine, like his vertebrae have fallen asleep.
“Tylenol in any bathroom?”
A nod.
“I’m assuming you have laundry detergent?”
A long pause, because why the hell is Eddie asking about that? But he nods, slowly.
“Tissues?”
Another nod. Steve’s vice grip on Eddie’s shirt loosens just a fraction because he’s offered up what he thinks are enough correct answers so far that Eddie shouldn’t have to leave. Right?
“Ok. So no juice,” Eddie sums up. “Any Gatorade?”
Steve hesitates, shakes his head slowly.
“Ok,” Eddie says. “I’m just going to roll over to grab the phone. Gotta call Robin. And then we’re going to get back to that compromise I talked about earlier, ok?”
Steve takes a deep breath, manages to get his eyes open to meet Eddie’s. “I need these on.” He uses his free hand to tug at the front of his sweater. Eddie gives him a small smile and nods.
“Like I said - a compromise. All your choice.” Then he shifts onto his back and Steve follows, resting his head in the space where Eddie’s arm meets his shoulder. He wraps his arm over the man’s waist, fingers fumbling to grab onto the side of his shirt like he had before. It still hurts but he still needs it.
Eddie looks down at him and Steve watches back through half-closed eyes. The space between his brows is furrowed, something like disbelief or confusion or like he’s studying Steve. Steve makes a humming noise before closing his eyes. Nothing on Eddie’s face was negative - no irritation or dismissal or frustration. Nothing that told him to move - thank god - because he’s unfortunately comfortable here, a reversal of the hallway where Steve’s now on top.
After a moment Eddie starts talking. “Hey, Robin…- Yeah I’m here…- For the most part, yeah. I think he’s got the flu.” There’s a longer pause than before. “Listen, can you do us a favour? I’m not super comfortable leaving him alone, he nearly flooded his house and turned his bed into an oven-“ Steve can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah. We’ll tell you the full story tomorrow, he should be more coherent then. But anyway, that favour. You might need to call Nancy or Jon for…- Yeah it’s a car thing unless you want to bike to the store and then here.” He laughs a little, a soft sound meant to diffuse, and Steve’s grip on his shirt loosens slightly like that’s the tension Eddie was trying to fix. “Either juice or Gatorade, some soup and crackers. I haven’t checked his cupboards but I don’t trust them. And uh… some cold meds? I don’t know what kind though…- Ok yeah you’re right, she’ll know.”
Steve huffs out a breath and closes his eyes, focusing on the way Eddie’s voice rumbles through his chest.
“You’re a doll, Robbie. I’ll meet you outside when you get here.”
There’s the click of the phone being placed in the receiver. “We’ll get you back on your feet in no time,” Eddie tells him. “But first, another pop quiz.”
Steve groans, and it makes his head throb again. He hooks a leg over Eddie’s to press himself closer, seeking comfort and warmth to get through the interrogation, even as the movement and the pressure of Eddie’s body against his makes his bones ache. Eddie inhales, exhales. He gently runs his hands through Steve’s hair and although it draws the cold in his bones into icicles pressing against the underside of his skin Steve doesn’t ask him to stop.
“How long have you been in bed?”
“Last night,” he mumbles. “After dinner. Thought I was gonna hurl.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Ok. So I’m assuming that was the last time you ate?”
He shakes his head. “Lunch. Yesterday. Dinner… I barely had anything.”
“Water?”
“Last night,” is said as another mumble, and Eddie sighs in that way he does that lets Steve know his answer isn’t a great one but Eddie can’t be mad at him about it.
“Have you taken any meds?”
He shakes his head, and Eddie does that sigh again.
“Ok, pretty boy, we gotta fix that.” Eddie slowly starts to sit up and Steve reluctantly pulls away. The other man’s soft tshirt moving against his skin feels like steel wool and he can’t help but flinch. He keeps his eyes closed, wraps his arms around his torso as a chill floods through him. Eddie shifts on the bed until his weight disappears. There’s a shuffling sound, a low noise from the man, and then he’s speaking quietly and close.
“Steve?”
“Mm?”
“I need you to stay awake a little longer, ok?”
“No promises.” And he tries for a smile, he tries, but the way his face twists feels like it becomes more of a grimace.
“What am I going to do with you?” But there’s affection behind Eddie’s words and Steve bites his lip. “I’ll be right back, ok? Not going far.” Then… Steve can’t be sure, can’t be sure if it happens or if he just hopes it happens but he’s almost sure that Eddie presses a soft kiss to the top of his hair before Steve feels his presence disappear.
Eddie says he’ll be right back but it feels like hours before he returns. Steve does manage to not fall asleep, but it takes some work, takes him shifting in ways he knows will ache to shock him closer to consciousness. When Eddie does return, Steve’s rolled himself onto his back, arms still wrapped around himself, gripping onto the sides of his sweater.
“Alright, sweetheart, I’m gonna need you to sit up. Can you do that?”
“I…” He swallows, takes a breath. “Gimme a minute?”
“Yeah, yeah. ‘Course. Can I help?”
Steve shakes his head as he moves onto the side he didn’t bruise earlier, slowly pushes himself up onto his elbow even as he thinks his arms will give out. His world tilts as he gets himself to sitting, and he leans heavily against the headboard.
“Ta da,” he mutters, tries another smile as he slowly opens his eyes. Eddie gives him a held-back grin from where he’s perched on the edge of the bed. He’s holding a glass of water in one hand and his other is curled closed.
“Nine out of ten,” Eddie scores, and Steve finds himself frowning slightly. But he’s distracted as Eddie offers him the water, opens his hand to reveal two Tylenol pills in his palm that Steve takes slowly. “We’ll get you another set in about six hours. And hopefully some actual meds before then.”
Steve doesn’t know what to say so he busies himself by taking the pills, drinking the full glass of water.
“D’you think we can get you downstairs?”
Steve shakes his head. “Not yet? The world’s-“ He makes a lopsided gesture with his hand, and Eddie nods, gently takes the hand that Steve’s left suspended in mid-air. He runs his thumb along Steve’s knuckles and watches the motion. The smile that was ghosting on his lips completes its vanishing act.
“Other than freezing, and your world doing kickflips, how are you feeling?”
Steve takes in a deep breath, leaning his head back against the headboard. “Exhausted. And sore. Everything hurts.” He squeezes Eddie’s hand as he says it, though, worried it’ll be taken away.
Eddie nods as he speaks, gives him an apologetic smile. “So, bad news, you’re absolutely sick. One hundred and twenty-one percent. Good news, we should be able to kill your fever for the most part by tomorrow, if -“ He rubs his thumb along the side of Steve’s hand. “- if you listen to me. You may know how to take care of broken bones and bloody wounds but I know how to take care of colds.”
Steve laughs slightly, closes his eyes. “I’m not in a position to argue with you.”
“Good. Because I need you to do something.”
“If you’re going to try and get me downstairs-“
“No, no. That’s a later us problem.”
“So what’s the now us problem?”
“You need to change.”
Steve flinches, wraps his arms around his torso again and clings to his sweater. “ Eddie -“
“You being sick and smelling like my cigarettes isn’t the best combo,” Eddie cuts him off.
“Wh-“
“Usually I love seeing you in my clothes-“ Eddie’s clothes? “-but not those ones. Not right now.” The mattress dips again and Eddie’s hands are edging along the hem of Steve’s sweater, fingers brushing too gently against the skin of his stomach.
“Your clothes?” Steve asks, barely a whisper.
“My sweater. From our drive last week.”
Steve blinks, finds Eddie’s big Bambi eyes watching him and the ice until his skin melts a little. He remembers the drive, remembers how Eddie’s van’s heating was fritzing and Steve got cold so Eddie…
Steve quickly closes his own hands around Eddie’s because he doesn’t want to change now that he really knows what he’s wearing, but most importantly-
“Eddie, you promised-“
“I have another sweater. Minute you get this off you can put the new one on.”
Steve wants to ask if it’s another one of his, or if he’s going to put Steve in his own clothes. But he doesn’t, he just groans. But he leans forward to get his back off the headboard and he works with Eddie to get the sweater up and off even though it aches the entire time. And, true to his word, as soon as the first sweater is off, Eddie’s pressing a new one into his hands and they’re working it on. Steve tries to ignore the way he can feel himself shaking, tries to ignore the way Eddie is watching him tremble. But they get the sweater on, the hood up with its hem nearly hanging in Steve’s eyes. Steve thinks it’s one of Eddie’s, knows the other man prefers his hoodies oversized while Steve keeps his fitted.
Eddie hums approvingly and gently touches Steve’s cheek. Steve leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed. He feels dizzy and isn’t sure it’s entirely because of his cold. “Thank you,” Eddie says, softly. “Thank you for letting me help you.”
Steve gives him a small smile, forces himself to open his eyes so Eddie can see him aware. And the other man must see the intention because he smiles in return. “I’ll let you sleep soon. I know you’re tired.”
Steve has to sit on the edge of the bed for them to change him out of the sweatpants. His hands shake while they do, and for this he keeps his eyes closed. He’s too tired and too sore and time isn’t moving at the proper speeds so by the time he’s aware enough to feel the discomfort of being treated like an invalid the process is over and Eddie is kissing the back of his hand and saying “can you sit on the floor for me for a moment? I just need ten minutes I promise then you can rest I promise, Stevie” .
So then he’s sitting on the carpeted floor beside his bed, head tilted back against the mattress with his eyes closed, at least a quarter way to unconscious while Eddie does something behind and around him. Then Eddie’s in front of him, kneeling over Steve’s stretched out legs, and gently taking his hands. “C’mon, Stevie.” And they’re getting into bed. Steve vaguely notes the sheets and pillow cases are different but the thought is quickly gone as Eddie is urging him to lie down, pulling a sheet up to his chin because the compromise was no heavy blankets.
“Are you staying?” Steve mumbles half into the pillow. Eddie laughs quietly.
“You’re not getting rid of me for a few days. Other than meeting Robin outside when she gets here, I’m not going anywhere.” He lies down behind Steve on the outside of the sheet and Steve reaches back to gently take his hand, pulling his arm around his waist to keep him close. The warm length of Eddie’s body seeps strength back into Steve’s, melting some of the ice under his skin.
Steve does not dream.
When he wakes up it’s dark and he’s not as cold. His limbs without as much ache feel loose and detached. The sheet is still pulled up to his shoulders but it’s twisted down at his feet. He rolls onto his back with a groan, reaching both hands out to feel along the… empty mattress.
Something pangs in Steve’s chest as he rolls over to face the open door. There’s light coming up from downstairs but he can’t hear any signs of life. Slowly, he eases himself up to sitting and pulls off his hood so he can run his hands through his hair. Despite the shower earlier, he feels gross. Clammy. Sticky. He feels sick.
He pushes himself to his feet and braces himself with one hand against the wall. Without as much pain and complete exhaustion, but with reality still not moving at the same pace of his brain, he feels disconnected. Even more liable to fall over than what he assumes was hours before when he told Eddie he couldn’t go downstairs.
Speaking of… “Eddie?” He croaks out the other man’s name, throat dry and voice rough. It doesn’t travel far, he doesn’t think, probably barely past the landing. He urges himself into the hallway, tries to take heavy steps to make sure he’s actually walking down the hallway and not floating.
“Eddie?” He tries again when he reaches the top of the stairs, grabbing onto the railing as an anchor.
It takes a moment, long enough that Steve’s contemplating the safest way to get downstairs, but then Eddie’s darting into view. He takes the first few stairs two at a time before abruptly looking up, big eyes meeting Steve’s, and he breaks out into a nervous smile.
“Stevie-“ He’s up the stairs faster than Steve’s brain can track, and Steve instinctively reaches out a hand for him. Eddie takes it and presses into his space, wrapping his other arm around Steve’s waist and holding him close, pretty much holding him up. “Hey, sweetheart. Whatcha doin’ outta bed?”
Steve rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder, turning his face into his neck. “Woke up and you weren’t there,” he says, quietly.
“I’m sorry.” Eddie squeezes his hand gently. “I just got up to clean a bit, knew you’d stress about the dishes and stuff if you found ‘em downstairs. Thought you’d keep sleeping a little longer.”
“How long was I out?”
“About two hours.”
Steve nods, just a small movement.
“Are you still tired?” Eddie’s keeping his voice soft and even, and something about it makes Steve feel more sick.
“A little. But not as much.”
“Good, good.” Eddie gently rubs his hand over the small of Steve’s back. “How about you take a seat here, and I’ll bring up some meds. Something to eat? It’ll help.”
Part of him wants to get back into bed, crawl under the covers with Eddie and just sleep out whatever this flu is. But he lifts his head to look at the man holding him and knows he shouldn’t, knows he should just let Eddie take care of him even though the more he thinks about it the more it makes him want to shrink.
“Yeah, sure.” He answers only loud enough to be audible.
They get him seated up against the wall around the corner from the stairs, just in case he tips over. Eddie flashes him an easy smile that melts some of the worst of the ice under Steve’s skin. “Be right back,” Eddie whispers, then he’s gone. Steve listens to his footsteps on the stairs, quick and light and skipping every other step.
When he returns it’s with a bottle of orange Gatorade, a mug, and the shape of a smaller bottle indented in his pocket. Steve blinks at him as he sits himself on the carpet.
“Alrighty.” Eddie grins like he does when he’s sitting down with snacks for their movie nights. “Electrolytes. Chicken soup. Cold meds.” He lays them out on the floor between them. “I recommend the cold meds first, then the Gatorade as a chaser, and then the soup.”
Steve stares as Eddie rearranges the items in that order, his words slowly working their way through Steve’s brain fog. He nods slowly. “Whatever you say, Eds.”
Eddie’s smile gentles and he pulls a spoon out from what Steve assumes is his back pocket. “Joyce says this’ll-“
“Joyce?”
Steve frowns. Eddie blinks, and his smile falters slightly. “Robbie wasn’t sure which meds would help. And she had to go to Melvald’s anyway, so she asked Joyce…”
Steve nods slowly. He raises his hands to rub over his face, wondering what Robin had told her. If she knew who the meds were for. What she’d do with that information. Joyce had been the one to convince him to go to the hospital after Billy nearly killed him. Had been there, despite her own tremendous grieving, at the hospital with him after Starcourt. Had essentially forced him to crash at her place for two days afterwards because he couldn’t take himself home and she took him home with her and Will and El. She had a habit of checking in on him regularly, passing off casseroles or leftovers on occasion. If she knew he was sick she’d be over sooner than he could probably think about, and that was honestly the last thing he wanted. Or one of the last things. The last thing he wanted was his parents to randomly show up, or randomly call. But those were usually the last things he ever wanted, nowadays…
“Stevie?” Eddie’s voice filters into his brain softly.
“Does she- does she know I’m sick?”
Eddie’s quiet for a moment. “If Robbie lied, you know she would’ve found out. But she’s not coming over, if that’s what you’re worried about. Robin told her that we’re keeping an eye on you, but promised we’d call if we needed anything.”
Steve nods again. His head feels heavy. “Ok,” he replies quietly. He drops his hands from his face and watches as Eddie’s knees scootch further into his vision.
“So… Can I take care of you?” Eddie’s unscrewing the medicine bottle as he speaks, and Steve sighs. He sits up, leans back against the wall, watches as Eddie goes to pour the mixture out, can’t figure how they’ll do the spoon hand off.
“Lemme,” Steve says, holding his hands out for the bottle and the spoon. Eddie’s gaze flicks from the items in his hands to Steve and back, before handing them over. “How much?”
“Two tablespoons.”
Steve’s hands don’t shake, but he has to focus on the movements of pouring and bringing the spoon up to his mouth. His joints feel loose and he’s not sure how he’s moving as evenly as he does, but he manages. The medicine tastes gross but he’s had demo-bat blood and Upside Down ooze in his mouth so it doesn’t phase him that much. When he lowers the spoon the second time, Eddie’s already cracked the lid on the Gatorade and they trade bottle for bottle. Steve downs about a third of it in one go and Eddie smiles at him. It makes him feel a little better.
The mug is warm when he picks it up in both hands, and it’s almost like he can feel the ice under his skin crack slightly at the temperature. He stares down into the soup and his stomach flips despite the fact he now recognizes a dull hunger ache resting behind all the other aches he’s experiencing.
“You don’t have to finish it,” Eddie tells him. “But you haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours and that’s definitely not helping with the whole feeling like garbage thing.”
Steve manages about half of it, drinking it from the mug slowly. Eddie stays with him, leaning his elbows on his knees where he’s crossed his legs. At first he’s quiet, but it makes Steve feel restless - probably makes Eddie feel restless, too - so he asks him to talk. About anything. And Eddie does. Talks about a guy who came into the shop with his bumper reattached from a fender bender by “duct tape and prayers.” Talks about a monster he’s considering putting into his next campaign even though he’s worried about the CR rating being slightly higher than the party level. Talks about how he wants to go up to Indy next weekend to look at getting some new guitar strings, if his paycheque is as good as it should be. He’s been working overtime and picking up shifts lately. Steve tries not to think about how Eddie’s supposed to work tomorrow, but how Eddie said he’d stay with Steve until he got better. Tries not to think about how that hurts more than when he fell out of bed earlier.
When he sets the half empty mug down on the floor between them Eddie smiles. Steve tries to give one back.
“Whyyyyy don’t we see if we can get you downstairs?” Eddie proposes. “Get you set up on the couch.”
Steve leans his head back against the wall and turns to look at where the stairs are just around the corner. “Gimme a minute?”
“Oh, yeah. I wasn’t thinking, like, right this second. But in a few minutes. When we know your body isn’t going to immediately reject something on your stomach for the first time in a day.”
Steve makes a face, doesn’t want to think about throwing up. He fucking hates throwing up. None of his hospital visits had accounted for what would happen when they gave him heavy painkillers on an empty stomach while he was experiencing a concussion.
He closes his eyes, sighs out his nose. After a moment, he feels Eddie’s hand rest firmly on his thigh just above his knee. Steve can feel the thickness and heaviness of his rings through his sweatpants, appreciates the slight dig of them when Eddie gently squeezes.
“You doin’ ok there, pretty boy?”
“Yeah. Just…” He swallows. “Hate all of this,” he admits, voice rough. “Think I’d rather get eaten alive again. Blood is easier… easier to deal with.”
Eddie’s quiet. His thumb runs steady lines along the inseam of Steve’s sweatpants. After a moment Steve hears him shift, and then Eddie’s knees bump his. “For what my opinion’s worth-“
Steve opens his eyes just so he can roll them, followed by fixing his friend with a side-eye. Eddie’s smiling at him, something soft but his eyes are a little uneasy. Eddie hasn’t had a reason to look at him like that in a while. “For what my opinion’s worth,” Eddie repeats, “I prefer you sick. Unless you’re stupid, you can’t die from this.”
Steve hums a non-committal noise and shifts so he can lean forward to rest his head on Eddie’s shoulder. He clears his throat and it hurts. Eddie’s not wrong, and Steve’s intention wasn’t to upset him.
“If… we go downstairs,” he starts, “will you-“
“Not going anywhere, Stevie,” Eddie tells him gently. He eases back the hood on Steve’s sweater so that he can run a hand through Steve’s hair, pushing it off his forehead. Steve takes a deep breath, exhales, focuses on the spark of Eddie’s cold rings against his scalp. When Eddie speaks, Steve can feel the vibrations of his body.
“Let’s go, before you fall asleep here.”
Steve can’t piece together most of their trip downstairs. He takes most of it by feel, the front of his foot finding the stair and then his heel locating the edge; he keeps his gaze at eye level to help with the dizziness and Eddie keeps a tight grip around his waist. He’s tired - there’s a haze at the edges of his vision - and he’s weaker than he’s been in months. When they reach the bottom of the stairs he leans up against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut. Eddie keeps his arm around his waist. “And now you don’t have to go back up unless you want to.”
Steve nods loosely. “You-“ You’re too good to me. But, even through the fever, he knows better than to say that out loud. So instead he says, “I love you.”
The words seem to echo in his large and empty house. Seem to find all the best places to bounce back at the two of them standing at the bottom of the stairs. Steve hears those three words in his head like a bass line. Slowly, he opens his eyes, and doesn’t have to search far to find Eddie’s. They’re warm and soft and understanding. They stay on his as one of Eddie’s hands finds Steve’s and carefully brings it up to leave a firm kiss to the back of it. “I hear you, sweetheart,” he says, voice a rumble where their chests are pressed together. Steve frowns, doesn’t know what to say to that.
After a moment, Eddie leads them into the living room. He had apparently been busy while Steve was asleep: had set up a couple pillows on the couch and brought down one of the thin, unremarkable blankets from the guest room. The only light on is in the background, in the kitchen. There’s another full bottle of Gatorade on the coffee table beside the bottle of Tylenol and a stack of VHS. Steve curls up on the couch, pulls the blanket up to his hips even as he sees Eddie reach to do the same.
“I’ll be right back, k?” And Steve can barely nod before Eddie’s out of the room and Steve can hear him on the stairs. He leans heavily back into the pillows, takes stock of himself for a moment. His hip still stings but his elbow isn’t throbbing anymore. The ice under his skin has gone liquid, more like ice water now with help from the painkillers. He still feels disoriented but it’s better now that he’s stationary again, half laying down as he is. In the position he’s put himself in, he starts to drift. He vaguely hears when Eddie comes downstairs, then feels his presence in front of him more than hears him as he slips further into unconsciousness.
The dreams come back. This time he knows they’re dreams. The blood red sky and heavy grey fog and the running. Always the running. But he’s running this time because Robin’s screaming. Screaming his name like at Starcourt but louder, higher. Filled with fear. And he can save her if he just keeps running but then someone else is screaming. Eddie is screaming. From behind him. Eddie is screaming from the opposite direction as Robin and Steve stumbles, nearly tripping to the ground as he wavers. His best friend.The man he wants to be his boyfriend. He’d do anything for the both of them. But now. But now- Their screams are getting louder. He can hear Eddie crying. Robin just keeps yelling his name over and over. Lightning crashes overhead-
-and Steve pulls himself awake with a shudder. His hands are clenched tight in the blanket he’s pulled up around him and his head is pounding. Quickly, he looks around the room and finds Eddie beside him, kneeling close, eyes wide. He has a hand out, halfway between them, reaching for Steve.
“Steve?” His voice is soft, quiet. Nothing like the dreams. Steve feels tears prick behind his eyes and he squeezes them shut, raising a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. Eddie’s hand settles on his shoulder, curls his fingers into the sweater fabric and gently tugs. “C’mere.” He pulls Steve to his chest and Steve goes willingly. Lets his body fold against Eddie’s as he holds him close, one arm across his chest and one hand stroking through his hair. “Talk to me, Stevie.”
“Nightmare,” Steve mumbles, eyes still closed. “They- the past few nights. They’ve been bad. Or weird. Haven’t been sleeping.”
Eddie makes an understanding humming noise. “Fever dreams,” he says softly. “Do you want to talk about them?”
“No. No I-“ He turns over onto his other side so his face is pressed into the tshirt over Eddie’s stomach. He inhales, trying to find the scent he’d bury himself in if he could. “Can you keep talking?” he asks, voice muffled. He assumes Eddie nods.
Steve listens to a repeat story about the lady with the Barbie-pink car who’d blown a tire while driving cross-country from California. Then there’s a new story about Eddie watching a guy wander around the Big Buy grocery store, apparently stoned out of his mind, eating straight from an ice cream tub until he apparently realised he needed to pay and leave. Another story about how Dustin had done some sort of probability calculations on their dice rolls from last session after they’d rolled like shit all night. Steve tries to process each word individually to help clear the remnants of the dream.
Eventually Eddie goes silent and he settles more comfortably into the couch, stretched out on his back, his arms loose around Steve’s waist. Steve’s on his front with his head resting on Eddie’s stomach, curled up between his legs where one hangs over the couch so his foot’s on the floor. Steve knows this position will tweak his back, that he could scootch up to rest on Eddie’s chest and that would be better, but he feels like dead weight. Doesn’t want to move. Honestly just wants to fall asleep again and not wake up until this is all over but he knows nothing works like that and Eddie’ll wake him up before it could maybe happen and he really won’t mind another few Tylenol when he can have them but gods he does just want to sleep forever. He settles for closing his eyes but keeping his hands busy. He rubs soft circles over the scars at Eddie’s waist, reaches his other hand up under Eddie’s shirt to rest over his heart. Eddie hums, content, and turns on the TV, keeps the volume real low. Steve thinks some soap opera is playing.
“I love you,” Steve whispers after a while.
Eddie inhales, exhales. “I love you, too, sweetheart,” he replies after a moment that feels too long.
Steve’s heart stammers in his chest and he lets out a shaky breath. He presses his fingers a little more firmly against Eddie’s scars.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” Eddie kisses the top of Steve’s head, lingers there a moment. “But we should talk about it later. When your fever’s broken and you’re more lucid.”
“Won’t change anything.”
“I didn’t think so, Stevie. But still.”
“Will… will you still love me later?”
Eddie’s arms tighten around him and Steve whines quietly, his brain spinning, filled with more comfort than he’d had in… a long time.
“Of course I will.”
There’s a long stretch of silence and Eddie doesn’t let him go.
“I’ll try and be a good patient until then,” Steve mumbles. His plan to stay mostly awake isn’t working out. He knows from experience that discomfort and pain can be easier to work through when unconscious and that knowledge is dragging him through sand. “No promises.”
Eddie rests a hand gently on the back of Steve’s head, fingers curling in his hair and his rings are sharp cold against his scalp and Steve makes a small noise in the back of his throat. Eddie splays his other hand across the space between Steve’s shoulder blades, pressing there firmly. Grounding. “None needed, baby, I know you’ll try.” The arm around Steve’s back squeezes him ever so gently and gods does it ache, a feeling deep in Steve’s bones that makes him want to think about the car crash outside of Starcourt even though the feelings are not comparable. “Now try and rest,” Eddie tells him. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Ain’t going anywhere, Stevie.”
Steve yawns and his hand on Eddie’s chest flattens out to feel the heartbeat there. “Can I take you somewhere?” he asks, volume dipping inconsistently.
“Hm?”
“Wanna… take you somewhere. After you know I love you.”
Eddie’s laugh is light, but Steve can hear it hitch in that way it does when he’s nervous. “You trying to ask me on a date, Harrington?”
Steve shakes his head the best he can since he’s still lying on Eddie. “Not asking,” he mumbles. “Gonna. You won’t say no. You already said you love me.”
Eddie"s hand in his hair gently runs through it once, twice, and Steve kinda feels like he’s being petted and he should probably be irritated by that but it feels too nice to complain about right now.
“You’re right,” Eddie tells him. “But we can’t go out until you’re better, so shh. Get some sleep and let me catch up on General Hospital.”
Steve stifles a tired laugh into Eddie’s shirt. His fingers at Eddie’s waist curl, and he spends the last few minutes trying to align his fingers with Eddie’s scars before he falls asleep.